Well guess what? Apparently, according to the well-founded opinion of Ukrainian (neo)nationalists and Aryan (really, yeah, not kidding) movements, Jesus was a Ukrainian, in fact, he was a primarch of the Proto-Aryan race! I guess that solves the problem of Aryans being Christians, no way they'd possibly worship a member of a lesser race, but a Ukrainian? Totally different.
While still on the subject of religions, beliefs and other wonderful things, I can't possibly not mention a text I saw a few days ago, something about our universe actually being a hologram or something or other. Couldn't really read it to the end due to lack of interest in the subject. However, a friend of mine is fascinated with the idea for some reason.
Question is, why be fascinated with it? Does living in a hologram mean that you can break out of it? Essentially, no. You're a hologram, too, and stepping out of the general area of projection you cease to exist. Besides, how do you break out of a hologram? By eating some red pills? Well, this isn't The Matrix, and you, dear readers, are not Neo. Neither am I, quite unfortunately, dodging bullets and being Teh 1 would have been rather nifty. Not to mention I could bend spoons and chastity belts... but I digress. What's the big deal with it? Does it cancel the laws of morality, if we realize that nothing really exist? Well, I dare you to try and see just what the other holograms can do to you for it. So what's so great about it? Even if this is a hologram, you're still stuck as a part of it.
Same really goes for the religions. There's a God? Heaven, Hell, all that? Great. I can reincarnate as a buffalo? Awesome. But what then? Right now I happen to be a human, and am stuck as one for the rest of my life - and suicide is a no-no according to pretty much all religions, no heaven, no reincarnation, just poof or purgatory. And being a human, I'm stuck to sticking to human laws, morality, customs and all that other great stuff that we humans are making such a big fuss about. A large deviation to any direction would end up as negative to the deviant in the first place, just like it would in case if the world was a hologram, my left toe or a tomato in drag.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Day in the fields
A light wind chasing stray snowflakes across a sea of white. Waves and ripples rising and falling, drawing intricate patterns over the barren plane. Among them, a figure, alone and strange, kneeling in the snow as the flakes slowly cover his black coat, one, two, few, many, gradually turning the figure white.
An odd sight, to say the least. It seems to take forever for the figure to be covered completely - yet at last, the snow covers it in full - and still the figure remains motionless, almost frozen. Frozen, or perhaps awaiting something, something that only it knows of; a command, a call, a voice - something. The snow keeps falling, though fewer and fewer of the flakes reach the ground as the wind chases them away, them and the clouds, making way for the piercingly blue skies and an equally piercing, bright, stabbing sun. The sun that covers the snowscape in shimmering paint, the kind to blind a beholder's eye, make a man rush for it like a tomb-robber after a precious jewel catching a flicker of the torch and shining right back. A field of diamond dust. And in another eternity, the field changes colour - from white to pink and purple, growing ever deeper into the shade of blue. Darkness falls as the last of the sun's rays search blindly along the horizon, in vain trying to hold on to the ground to stay a moment longer.
And just then, the figure moves, awake for another night and another travel, drowining in the darkness that floods the valley.
Commentaries: Inspired by an odd combination of mood, weather and Boy and the Ghost from Tarja Turunen's new album, My Winter Storm.
An odd sight, to say the least. It seems to take forever for the figure to be covered completely - yet at last, the snow covers it in full - and still the figure remains motionless, almost frozen. Frozen, or perhaps awaiting something, something that only it knows of; a command, a call, a voice - something. The snow keeps falling, though fewer and fewer of the flakes reach the ground as the wind chases them away, them and the clouds, making way for the piercingly blue skies and an equally piercing, bright, stabbing sun. The sun that covers the snowscape in shimmering paint, the kind to blind a beholder's eye, make a man rush for it like a tomb-robber after a precious jewel catching a flicker of the torch and shining right back. A field of diamond dust. And in another eternity, the field changes colour - from white to pink and purple, growing ever deeper into the shade of blue. Darkness falls as the last of the sun's rays search blindly along the horizon, in vain trying to hold on to the ground to stay a moment longer.
And just then, the figure moves, awake for another night and another travel, drowining in the darkness that floods the valley.
Commentaries: Inspired by an odd combination of mood, weather and Boy and the Ghost from Tarja Turunen's new album, My Winter Storm.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
The Witcher
Yes, it's so good that it deserves a separate post. I'm planning to review it over the weekend as I've almost finished the game.
In case the dear reader is ignorant of just what The Witcher is, thanks to the asshattery from Atari's promotional department, it's a game that's as good as PS: Torment, VtM: Bloodlines (with way better combat and continually strong storyline), Gothic 2 and the BG series. First role-playing game as good in four years. Or maybe eight. Brilliant story, fun combat past the intro, great characters, lots of moral dilemmas of shades of gray (finally) and valid choices and consequences.
The Witcher's page, bypassing age check thingy.
*goes back to hunt monsters and make tough decisions with horrific consequences*
In case the dear reader is ignorant of just what The Witcher is, thanks to the asshattery from Atari's promotional department, it's a game that's as good as PS: Torment, VtM: Bloodlines (with way better combat and continually strong storyline), Gothic 2 and the BG series. First role-playing game as good in four years. Or maybe eight. Brilliant story, fun combat past the intro, great characters, lots of moral dilemmas of shades of gray (finally) and valid choices and consequences.
The Witcher's page, bypassing age check thingy.
*goes back to hunt monsters and make tough decisions with horrific consequences*
Political Correctness Strikes Again
I have always thought that Santa's "Ho ho ho!" was breaking the conversation norms. Apparently I'm not the only one now, Australians impose a ban on that saying this Christmas.
/heavysarcasmoff.
People that see cocaine in adverts of washing powder and otherwise see things that are "offensive" while they're not are the ones with problems, not the rest.
Dear Politically Correct People That See Offensive Crap Everywhere: Make The World Better. See A Shrink.
/heavysarcasmoff.
People that see cocaine in adverts of washing powder and otherwise see things that are "offensive" while they're not are the ones with problems, not the rest.
Dear Politically Correct People That See Offensive Crap Everywhere: Make The World Better. See A Shrink.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
"I don't agree with you but I respect your opinion"
That sentence has been bugging me for ages since it essentially reeks of hipocrisy - in my eyes, at least. You can respect the person you're disagreeing with, but you can't respect an opinion you disagree with. Essentially, it's against human nature as such, from my point of view. You can acknowledge it, you can accept that the other person is perfectly entitled to an opinion of his own rather than accepting yours or you can argue til both of you turn blue to change nothing, but respect as such is an earned value generated through positive experiences - or experience. You can't respect a momentary opionion that comes up through a conversation. So today, I opened a dictionary and what do I find? Definition for the word "Respect" that suddently explains the whole thing with it. I'm overjoyed.
1: a relation or reference to a particular thing or situation: respect to an earlier plan
2: an act of giving particular attention: consideration
3a:high or special regard: esteem; b: the quality or state of being esteemed c: plural expressions of respect or deference:
Respect has several meanings - and when you say, "I disagree with you, but I consider your opionion", it suddenly makes a lot more sense than saying "I disagree with you, but hold your opinion in esteem regardless". Because this is what we do. When we disagree, we regardlessly (hopefully) think on the opposing opinion's factors - sometimes ending up having it in esteem indeed - but often, merely considering it as a valid option alternative to our own. Which, in a way, I suppose, is respecting the conversation counterpart - but not respecting the opinion in the 3a, b or c fashion.
Yay, semantics.
1: a relation or reference to a particular thing or situation: respect to an earlier plan
2: an act of giving particular attention: consideration
3a:high or special regard: esteem; b: the quality or state of being esteemed c: plural expressions of respect or deference:
Respect has several meanings - and when you say, "I disagree with you, but I consider your opionion", it suddenly makes a lot more sense than saying "I disagree with you, but hold your opinion in esteem regardless". Because this is what we do. When we disagree, we regardlessly (hopefully) think on the opposing opinion's factors - sometimes ending up having it in esteem indeed - but often, merely considering it as a valid option alternative to our own. Which, in a way, I suppose, is respecting the conversation counterpart - but not respecting the opinion in the 3a, b or c fashion.
Yay, semantics.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Quoting people I don't know
"A cultured person cannot be tolerant, as tolerance is a means of destroying culture through making it equal with lack of it."
That's an interesting quote. It refers to modern concept of tolerance - the sort where everyone's opinion is equal and equally valuable. I really wonder who it belongs to originally - so if any of you know the source, I'd like to know it. This might be paraphrased, since I translated it from a Russian version.
It sounds rather blunt and, well, intolerant, the quote, rather elitist as well - and excusing elitist behaviour as well, wouldn't be surprised if it was used in propaganda of certain movements... But if one takes a look at it properly, it's quite true - not just with culture, though, though it may depend on what one defines as culture. In general, though, is it not our tolerance that permits existance of all things distasteful merely because speaking out against it is essentially no longer permitted by our own establishment? Do we not destroy ourselves from within by permitting - and approving - of processes best halted, of people best stopped and of opinions best buried deep beneath the sands of time rather than pretend a forced smile and look the other way?
And why, then, do we do so? Is it because of politeness? But politeness isn't enforced - it's presumed, and the means of achieving politeness are quite codified, but they are simply rules we want to observe in order not to upset others around us - or achieve results desireable to us through observing societal norms and manipulating them to our will. So no, it's not politeness.
It's fear. Fear to be cast aside for breaking the behavioural norms, fear of retribution, fear of one day having someone we didn't please of throwing a rock at us. In some less fortunate countries, fear of being prosecuted by law. How screwed up is our society, then, if we have to be tolerant and polite out of fear rather than by choice?
That is not to say I approve of the quote exactly. People should be tolerant, but only according to their own will - and there are things that cannot be tolerated regardlessly. Just that people have to use their head, as time-consuming as it might sound.
Oh, and to those that equalise intolerance with violent intolerance - wrong. A person that can't tolerate a fact acts to correct it, yes - but not violently. Martin Luther King could not tolerate the way that a great deal of people in the US were treated - but did he go shooting whites for it? Nope. Did he punch them? No! What did he do? He came up with civil disobedience. When film industry started coming up with things like pornography and films of extreme violence, did their makers get burnt at the stake? No. People came up with age categories for films. These are examples of intolerance that did something good for society - intolerance of an aspect of surroundings - in fact, intolerance is one of the motivating forces behind progress.
Then there's a more regular display of intolerance - me, for example, I have an intense hatred of people chewing noisily (call it childhood trauma if you will, I really can't stand it) - and if I'm eating with someone I know well enough to comment, I will. If I am on the bus next to someone chewing like that, I'll make my music deafeningly loud or change seats - because I can't stand it, and being polite in this case would cause me near-physical discomfort. However, in some rare situations, I regardlessly permit people to eat that way without making any remarks or trying to drown it out - but I do it by my own choice rather than fear of rejection. And I won't tolerate a whole lot of other things as well, but it hardly means I'll go and beat someone up over it, or end their existance to stop troubling me. That is not just intolerance. That is intense stupidity.
That's an interesting quote. It refers to modern concept of tolerance - the sort where everyone's opinion is equal and equally valuable. I really wonder who it belongs to originally - so if any of you know the source, I'd like to know it. This might be paraphrased, since I translated it from a Russian version.
It sounds rather blunt and, well, intolerant, the quote, rather elitist as well - and excusing elitist behaviour as well, wouldn't be surprised if it was used in propaganda of certain movements... But if one takes a look at it properly, it's quite true - not just with culture, though, though it may depend on what one defines as culture. In general, though, is it not our tolerance that permits existance of all things distasteful merely because speaking out against it is essentially no longer permitted by our own establishment? Do we not destroy ourselves from within by permitting - and approving - of processes best halted, of people best stopped and of opinions best buried deep beneath the sands of time rather than pretend a forced smile and look the other way?
And why, then, do we do so? Is it because of politeness? But politeness isn't enforced - it's presumed, and the means of achieving politeness are quite codified, but they are simply rules we want to observe in order not to upset others around us - or achieve results desireable to us through observing societal norms and manipulating them to our will. So no, it's not politeness.
It's fear. Fear to be cast aside for breaking the behavioural norms, fear of retribution, fear of one day having someone we didn't please of throwing a rock at us. In some less fortunate countries, fear of being prosecuted by law. How screwed up is our society, then, if we have to be tolerant and polite out of fear rather than by choice?
That is not to say I approve of the quote exactly. People should be tolerant, but only according to their own will - and there are things that cannot be tolerated regardlessly. Just that people have to use their head, as time-consuming as it might sound.
Oh, and to those that equalise intolerance with violent intolerance - wrong. A person that can't tolerate a fact acts to correct it, yes - but not violently. Martin Luther King could not tolerate the way that a great deal of people in the US were treated - but did he go shooting whites for it? Nope. Did he punch them? No! What did he do? He came up with civil disobedience. When film industry started coming up with things like pornography and films of extreme violence, did their makers get burnt at the stake? No. People came up with age categories for films. These are examples of intolerance that did something good for society - intolerance of an aspect of surroundings - in fact, intolerance is one of the motivating forces behind progress.
Then there's a more regular display of intolerance - me, for example, I have an intense hatred of people chewing noisily (call it childhood trauma if you will, I really can't stand it) - and if I'm eating with someone I know well enough to comment, I will. If I am on the bus next to someone chewing like that, I'll make my music deafeningly loud or change seats - because I can't stand it, and being polite in this case would cause me near-physical discomfort. However, in some rare situations, I regardlessly permit people to eat that way without making any remarks or trying to drown it out - but I do it by my own choice rather than fear of rejection. And I won't tolerate a whole lot of other things as well, but it hardly means I'll go and beat someone up over it, or end their existance to stop troubling me. That is not just intolerance. That is intense stupidity.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Tidbits
Well, I've been re-reading a collection of French sci-fi the last few days, and I must say I'm bloody impressed with the novel and the short stories. Those guys really knew how to write good science fiction. No focus on laser pew-pews, rather, good, philosophical sort of writings in a fictional framework. Highly focused on human nature and its destructive features. Though I must say it took a few years to see the book in full colours rather than just the obvious things you manage picking up when you're younger. Whee! Maturity! *does the leprechaun dance*
Found a lot of MythBusters episodes (from the Discovery channel) on YouTube, great stuff there - but to top the greatness of that show, I also stumbled across an interesting debate in the video's comments section - a great literacy debate!
Also found a great episode about the "bull in a china shop" saying. Damn, I want to work in a group like that!
And of course, I couldn't leave out this little gem:
Found a lot of MythBusters episodes (from the Discovery channel) on YouTube, great stuff there - but to top the greatness of that show, I also stumbled across an interesting debate in the video's comments section - a great literacy debate!
Also found a great episode about the "bull in a china shop" saying. Damn, I want to work in a group like that!
And of course, I couldn't leave out this little gem:
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Mankind loses more points.
I spent a bit of the afternoon browsing the intrawebs today, catching up on some less frequented forums and such (well, being both bored and lazy, basically) and what do I stumble upon? No other thing but a newspost that qualifies as a severe kick to the various sensitive spots of the collective hive of minds called "mankind". Seriously, when I read things like that, I wish I would differentiate from the lot of them by more than just the token genetic variation and mental conditioning.
Alright, really, now. We have one doped-up moron doing that stuff and filming himself on a telephone - or having a friend do that. I won't talk of my opinion on the cretin, that's pretty self-explanatory, I should hope, but... What about the people that witnessed all this? Why has nobody stopped the idiot? It's not like he just spat and ran off. Who are all these people and do I even want to share the same air with them? I feel doubtful. Open their eyes? How? They don't want to see, hear or even smell the truth anymore, not most of mankind anyway. Just hide in your little holes with all the little comfy stuff ya got and be happy none of it concerns you. Oh yeah. Risk your neck for a dying woman while a freak does what he does? Who's stupid enough for that?
Oh, and some guys at the forum went blaming "godless people" about this. Beg pardon, but in the Soviet Union, this sort of thing would be unthinkable. Roots to this are quite elsewhere.
And while at that... Another thing, came to my attention thanks to Mach. Street school kid violence.
Wasn't really going to bring that up, since it was something I grew up with. You either fight, or you run, or you're dropped and kicked - normal rules of living in Turkmenistan. But... We actually had people with cojones that came and broke this up. Adults, of course. But still. And here? Who stops them? Nobody, that's who. Political correctness and fear for our own hides. Disgusting. And where are those kids' parents? Have they ever heard that kids need to be brought up rather than showered with presents and let do anything they like as an instant substitute for parental attention, love and other things that were once considered, erm, important?
Source.Man urinates on dying woman, declaring it 'YouTube material'
From the "Annals of Modern Depravity" comes this sordid story:
Shouting, "This is YouTube material!" a 27-year-old British man urinated on a dying woman who had collapsed on the street, the BBC and local Hartepool Mail and Northern Echo tell us. He also doused her with a bucket of water and covered her with shaving cream.
The woman, 50-year-old Christine Lakinski, died at the scene of pancreatic failure.
In a sad sign of the times, it was all recorded on a mobile phone.
In court, Anthony Anderson said he had smoked a joint and been drinking with two friends when they spotted Lakinski. He faces jail after pleading guilty to "outraging public decency." Sentencing is set for Oct. 22.
"We will await the outcome and just hope he gets what he deserves," Lakinski's brother said after today's court hearing.
Alright, really, now. We have one doped-up moron doing that stuff and filming himself on a telephone - or having a friend do that. I won't talk of my opinion on the cretin, that's pretty self-explanatory, I should hope, but... What about the people that witnessed all this? Why has nobody stopped the idiot? It's not like he just spat and ran off. Who are all these people and do I even want to share the same air with them? I feel doubtful. Open their eyes? How? They don't want to see, hear or even smell the truth anymore, not most of mankind anyway. Just hide in your little holes with all the little comfy stuff ya got and be happy none of it concerns you. Oh yeah. Risk your neck for a dying woman while a freak does what he does? Who's stupid enough for that?
Oh, and some guys at the forum went blaming "godless people" about this. Beg pardon, but in the Soviet Union, this sort of thing would be unthinkable. Roots to this are quite elsewhere.
And while at that... Another thing, came to my attention thanks to Mach. Street school kid violence.
Wasn't really going to bring that up, since it was something I grew up with. You either fight, or you run, or you're dropped and kicked - normal rules of living in Turkmenistan. But... We actually had people with cojones that came and broke this up. Adults, of course. But still. And here? Who stops them? Nobody, that's who. Political correctness and fear for our own hides. Disgusting. And where are those kids' parents? Have they ever heard that kids need to be brought up rather than showered with presents and let do anything they like as an instant substitute for parental attention, love and other things that were once considered, erm, important?
Factory Stories, interlude.
It wasn't really in his plans, getting stuck at a factory like this. Coming here day after day, week after week, weeks slowly piling up into months and years. Once, he wanted to be something different. Someone that could change the world - influence it for the better, or at least leave a mark in the passing. To have a fancy job with a fancy car and take half a year's worth of vacations in a warmer hemisphere. But then, a friend told him that there was a place with decent pay that could employ without looking for fifty years of prior experience, and he fell to the trap. And damn, the trap was good.
There was no need to worry, no need to think too hard, the people around were nice and the pay was decent. He was safe there. Secure. There was no need to take any risks for years. Even his friendships were all safe. Nobody to know him too well, nobody to get too close, just casual acquaintances to chat with over a mug of beer on the day off. Good guys, too, of course. All was fine. But lately, he began feeling that something was amiss.
He wasn't sure what it was, or where. It could've been that the factory had turned to some sort of a lunatic asylum, with people talking about seeing squirrels, fighting over women and trying to kill themselves in the restroom over something or another. It could be that. Or it could've been something else - his dreams of glorious life ahead of him pulling him again, telling to stop with the nonsense and make a leap. And see where it all goes from there.
He sighed and lifted his head, casting a tired glance around him. The conveyor belt stretched from right to left, carrying all manner of electronic things he never cared to learn the names of. Dozens of blank concentrated faces surrounding the conveyor, putting the devices together and sending them onwards. He chuckled to himself. Working here for so long and never learning any names. Temporary thing. Damn.
He glanced over his shoulder, looking for the clock on the wall. Almost the end of the shift. He stretched out lazily, relaxing in his chair and shrugging to the questioning gaze of the neighbour lady, whatever her name was. Odd. He had good memory once.
Maybe it was time to go? To leave the factory behind? To try out everything else that the world had to offer, even though he could well fail - there was always this place to come back to in such a case... Yeah, why not? He got up and headed to the foreman's office - or rather, cubicle, looking around himself as if seeing an old, cozy home for the last time. Well, in a way, it was his cozy home. The grayness. The bright lights. The humming, the whirring and the clanking. The dry air with a faint smell of metal and plastic. The faint voices of the workers, occasional shrieks and laughter - usually from those temporary kids - and the work that never got too boring.
"I won't be coming tomorrow", he said to the foreman casually. The man nodded, turning his head away from a screen. "Taking an extra off?"
The man hesitated before responding to his superior, his eyes wandering the ceiling. "No. I'm quitting tomorrow. Sudden decision, but the contract allowed those. Sorry, boss"
The foreman nodded again. "Remember to return all the tools and keys to me before you leave today, then"
The man nodded and walked out of the room. It was done. He grinned. No big words of farewell, no claims of being missed. And he actually hesitated with this decision.
There was no need to worry, no need to think too hard, the people around were nice and the pay was decent. He was safe there. Secure. There was no need to take any risks for years. Even his friendships were all safe. Nobody to know him too well, nobody to get too close, just casual acquaintances to chat with over a mug of beer on the day off. Good guys, too, of course. All was fine. But lately, he began feeling that something was amiss.
He wasn't sure what it was, or where. It could've been that the factory had turned to some sort of a lunatic asylum, with people talking about seeing squirrels, fighting over women and trying to kill themselves in the restroom over something or another. It could be that. Or it could've been something else - his dreams of glorious life ahead of him pulling him again, telling to stop with the nonsense and make a leap. And see where it all goes from there.
He sighed and lifted his head, casting a tired glance around him. The conveyor belt stretched from right to left, carrying all manner of electronic things he never cared to learn the names of. Dozens of blank concentrated faces surrounding the conveyor, putting the devices together and sending them onwards. He chuckled to himself. Working here for so long and never learning any names. Temporary thing. Damn.
He glanced over his shoulder, looking for the clock on the wall. Almost the end of the shift. He stretched out lazily, relaxing in his chair and shrugging to the questioning gaze of the neighbour lady, whatever her name was. Odd. He had good memory once.
Maybe it was time to go? To leave the factory behind? To try out everything else that the world had to offer, even though he could well fail - there was always this place to come back to in such a case... Yeah, why not? He got up and headed to the foreman's office - or rather, cubicle, looking around himself as if seeing an old, cozy home for the last time. Well, in a way, it was his cozy home. The grayness. The bright lights. The humming, the whirring and the clanking. The dry air with a faint smell of metal and plastic. The faint voices of the workers, occasional shrieks and laughter - usually from those temporary kids - and the work that never got too boring.
"I won't be coming tomorrow", he said to the foreman casually. The man nodded, turning his head away from a screen. "Taking an extra off?"
The man hesitated before responding to his superior, his eyes wandering the ceiling. "No. I'm quitting tomorrow. Sudden decision, but the contract allowed those. Sorry, boss"
The foreman nodded again. "Remember to return all the tools and keys to me before you leave today, then"
The man nodded and walked out of the room. It was done. He grinned. No big words of farewell, no claims of being missed. And he actually hesitated with this decision.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Repost
To all those that missed the "I called her Death" story which I posted at quarter to midnight on September 30th, here's the repost of the link to it - THE NEW STORY THAT ANG ACTUALLY THINKS WAS MADE PROPER.
After a four-year break...
Angie begins writing poetry again. And this time it even rhymes. Mostly.
The rainy skies are torn apart
By glowing shards of dawn
The shades of night with frown depart
Across the sleepy town.
A weeping morning of the fall
By early rays is met
Its tears dry to raven's call,
A scene for day is set
The breaths of hundreds call
The wind, awakening from their dreams
And morning sun extends its beams
'Cross autumn's yellow hall
The rainy skies are torn apart
By glowing shards of dawn
The shades of night with frown depart
Across the sleepy town.
A weeping morning of the fall
By early rays is met
Its tears dry to raven's call,
A scene for day is set
The breaths of hundreds call
The wind, awakening from their dreams
And morning sun extends its beams
'Cross autumn's yellow hall
Valueable thoughts
With the East's Blues still winning the parliamentary elections at the moment, it's time to turn our noble gazes to some of the more interesting names in Ukraine's political parties.
The BYT - Bloc of Yulia Timoshenko, of course, is an awesome name, not a cult of personality thing at all.
But that's nothing at all compared to the president's coalition. Not only is it stupid in original form - Our Ukraine - People's Self Defence (Seriously, self defence? Against horrible prices on just about anything? Unstable economy? Really, who makes those names up?), it has an addition to it in brackets that steals the crown in the "Stupid name" competition - (NUNS) How cool is this?
Paraphrasing the name of the president's bloc - "Ukrainian NUNS with guns"
*claps*
The BYT - Bloc of Yulia Timoshenko, of course, is an awesome name, not a cult of personality thing at all.
But that's nothing at all compared to the president's coalition. Not only is it stupid in original form - Our Ukraine - People's Self Defence (Seriously, self defence? Against horrible prices on just about anything? Unstable economy? Really, who makes those names up?), it has an addition to it in brackets that steals the crown in the "Stupid name" competition - (NUNS) How cool is this?
Paraphrasing the name of the president's bloc - "Ukrainian NUNS with guns"
*claps*
News from Afghanistan
This year seems to be great for harvesting in those war-torn barren lands! 800 tons of heroin!
Congratulations to all current and future drug addicts.
Congratulations to all current and future drug addicts.
Monday, October 1, 2007
"We don't need no education"
...At least of the sort I saw yesterday. While being on an intercity bus, I had a neighbour, a girl from high school or something of the sort. She was reading a book. A schoolbook. Looked like some sort of religion thing really, put into "objective" terms.
I was taking a peek into the thing, being curious and all - it's interesting to see what the growing generation will be having in their heads. And my, my, my... My curiosity was rewarded.
Morality is an innate and inherent feature of human nature.
I was slightly shocked by this revelation. I mean, yeah, morality is part of human nature. My ass. it has actually been proven that it isn't - morality is an aspect of human social behaviour, and if the human isn't subjected to the society and societal norms until a critical age (7, if I recall correctly), he or she is irreversably lost to the society - and the morality will not develop according to the regular moral code, rather on simple animal instincts of fear, lust, anger and so on. Feral children are a clear illustration of the point.
However, if feral children aren't sufficient, there's another side to the matter - the different perception of morality within different cultures. In some cultures, a certain item is absolutely a taboo, while in another, it's fine and allowed on a daily, if not permanent basis. For instance, certain pagan religions imply animal or human ritual sacrifice. To their moral code, it is an alright thing to do, and the only thing that might make someone against it is fear for their own life - which is an instinct rather than a morally guided decision. Christianity, on the other hand, abhors human sacrifice. Now, we either dehumanize the pagans or the Christians or accept the fact that morality is not a universal concept.
With that said, it should be quite clear that it's not something you are born with, either.
Anyone with a different opinion?
I was taking a peek into the thing, being curious and all - it's interesting to see what the growing generation will be having in their heads. And my, my, my... My curiosity was rewarded.
Morality is an innate and inherent feature of human nature.
I was slightly shocked by this revelation. I mean, yeah, morality is part of human nature. My ass. it has actually been proven that it isn't - morality is an aspect of human social behaviour, and if the human isn't subjected to the society and societal norms until a critical age (7, if I recall correctly), he or she is irreversably lost to the society - and the morality will not develop according to the regular moral code, rather on simple animal instincts of fear, lust, anger and so on. Feral children are a clear illustration of the point.
However, if feral children aren't sufficient, there's another side to the matter - the different perception of morality within different cultures. In some cultures, a certain item is absolutely a taboo, while in another, it's fine and allowed on a daily, if not permanent basis. For instance, certain pagan religions imply animal or human ritual sacrifice. To their moral code, it is an alright thing to do, and the only thing that might make someone against it is fear for their own life - which is an instinct rather than a morally guided decision. Christianity, on the other hand, abhors human sacrifice. Now, we either dehumanize the pagans or the Christians or accept the fact that morality is not a universal concept.
With that said, it should be quite clear that it's not something you are born with, either.
Anyone with a different opinion?
Stuff and things
Well, hmm. Looks like I was majorly unproductive with my writings during the last month, and it's about time to start fixing that. So... First of all, this month, the world will gaze upon more Factory Stories (cue applause) - hopefully more in the shape of my last story's description level than not.
Second, I've decided to, eh, spice up the blog with more articles disclosing my potentially uninteresting but equally potentially offensive opinions! That is, I'm planning to display my cynical observations more often.
And third, I was, hm, persuaded by some people *grumbles* to join FaceBook and MySpace. I still have no idea what I'm supposed to do with all that except put up pretty pictures of myself, but I guess I'll find out soon enough. Profile on my Face is hanging around here, MySpace thing is here. Amusingly enough, the profiles have been up for 24 hours and there's random strangers adding me to their friends already. I'm NOT YOUR FRIEND DAMN IT! *cough*
On yet other news - I have three relatively fresh articles on Pixel - the two on the top actually being decent.
So, welcome to October, everyone.
Second, I've decided to, eh, spice up the blog with more articles disclosing my potentially uninteresting but equally potentially offensive opinions! That is, I'm planning to display my cynical observations more often.
And third, I was, hm, persuaded by some people *grumbles* to join FaceBook and MySpace. I still have no idea what I'm supposed to do with all that except put up pretty pictures of myself, but I guess I'll find out soon enough. Profile on my Face is hanging around here, MySpace thing is here. Amusingly enough, the profiles have been up for 24 hours and there's random strangers adding me to their friends already. I'm NOT YOUR FRIEND DAMN IT! *cough*
On yet other news - I have three relatively fresh articles on Pixel - the two on the top actually being decent.
So, welcome to October, everyone.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Happy Bashing of Popular Culture
Now that I have my writing fingers back, I'd like to address an issue that's commonly around in popular "culture", especially in the bloody anime that I so much, eh, invertedly like. Hmm, hmm, what could it possibly be, the dear reader might now wonder. Well, I won't keep you wondering any longer.
It's about, surprise, surprise, lesbians!
Seriously, besides the suddenly expanded Google factor of this blog, what is it with them? It's like the bloody things are on every corner of the internet and/or anime (at least from my humble - and minimal - observations). Mind you, I'm not actually meaning the real things - the ones in the real world that go about their lives and business like everyone else. It's the intensely irritable glamorous image of the male fantasy put into graphical viewable version.
I mean, what the hell? I suppose it's understandable that two attractive women are more appealing than a male and a female. But still. Why does every anime I happen to be given links to/stumble across have a lesbian side-kick that will constantly be hitting on the huge-chested heroine? (How they walk with those things without traumatic experiences is another big question. Pun intended) Why are there lesbians in commercials? Well, actually, why are there half-naked women in drenched, revealing shirts on TV in the first place? Where are the feminists looking?
Alright, alright... So I suppose it's an attractive fantasy that is all too easy to abuse when you're out of other ideas. And I suppose it can be awesome and so on and so forth, potentially. But stopping to think about it for a moment...
Question A: If female homosexuality is so awesome, why is male homosexuality, then, such a horror to many of the people concerned?
Question B: What do you figure your chances to be hit on by one/two hot lesbians? I'd gather pretty low. Why would they want a male? Hm? HMMM? Can't answer it? Oh well. I suppose reproductive instinct kinda fails here by making false assumptions.
Question C: Imagine yourself falling in love - unknowingly - with one. Maaaaaaan. Talk about a hopeless situation. Are the lesbians still that hot after that thought?
Question D: Just... what is it with the fascination? I fail to understand, mind explaining it?
Whew. Finally, a bashing of things that deserve being bashed.
It's about, surprise, surprise, lesbians!
Seriously, besides the suddenly expanded Google factor of this blog, what is it with them? It's like the bloody things are on every corner of the internet and/or anime (at least from my humble - and minimal - observations). Mind you, I'm not actually meaning the real things - the ones in the real world that go about their lives and business like everyone else. It's the intensely irritable glamorous image of the male fantasy put into graphical viewable version.
I mean, what the hell? I suppose it's understandable that two attractive women are more appealing than a male and a female. But still. Why does every anime I happen to be given links to/stumble across have a lesbian side-kick that will constantly be hitting on the huge-chested heroine? (How they walk with those things without traumatic experiences is another big question. Pun intended) Why are there lesbians in commercials? Well, actually, why are there half-naked women in drenched, revealing shirts on TV in the first place? Where are the feminists looking?
Alright, alright... So I suppose it's an attractive fantasy that is all too easy to abuse when you're out of other ideas. And I suppose it can be awesome and so on and so forth, potentially. But stopping to think about it for a moment...
Question A: If female homosexuality is so awesome, why is male homosexuality, then, such a horror to many of the people concerned?
Question B: What do you figure your chances to be hit on by one/two hot lesbians? I'd gather pretty low. Why would they want a male? Hm? HMMM? Can't answer it? Oh well. I suppose reproductive instinct kinda fails here by making false assumptions.
Question C: Imagine yourself falling in love - unknowingly - with one. Maaaaaaan. Talk about a hopeless situation. Are the lesbians still that hot after that thought?
Question D: Just... what is it with the fascination? I fail to understand, mind explaining it?
Whew. Finally, a bashing of things that deserve being bashed.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Nasal Spray
So, yeah. I'm addicted to nasal spray called Otrivin. Guess I should've seen it coming, "don't stuff it up your nose and squeeze for more than 10 days in a row", indeed. Of course, they don't say why, else I might have actually thought twice about that 11th day.
Thing is, without the bloody thing, I'm more or less unable to breathe. With it, I obviously can - but that's not all, I noticed an interesting, more "complacent" mood shift after taking the medicine. So, today, I decided to break free of its clutches and I'm not taking another drop of it. Even if I won't be able to sleep a few nights.
Of course, it'd be too simple if I just had decided to stop taking the nasal spray shots. Thing is, amusingly enough, I actually had the shakes. As in, withdrawal effects. Nearly half the day I felt like an ADHD patient, not able to focus on anything for more than ten-fifteen minutes. Rather an interesting feeling, to be quite honest, except the ever-growing anxiety really gets to you in the end.
Summary: Don't take nasal sprays for longer than recommended.
Thing is, without the bloody thing, I'm more or less unable to breathe. With it, I obviously can - but that's not all, I noticed an interesting, more "complacent" mood shift after taking the medicine. So, today, I decided to break free of its clutches and I'm not taking another drop of it. Even if I won't be able to sleep a few nights.
Of course, it'd be too simple if I just had decided to stop taking the nasal spray shots. Thing is, amusingly enough, I actually had the shakes. As in, withdrawal effects. Nearly half the day I felt like an ADHD patient, not able to focus on anything for more than ten-fifteen minutes. Rather an interesting feeling, to be quite honest, except the ever-growing anxiety really gets to you in the end.
Summary: Don't take nasal sprays for longer than recommended.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Games that people play
Some news from the WoW direction - an interesting insight on how people's minds seem to sometimes work, and more reasons behind me not liking people all that much. Copied from a conversation with Inny, so bear with the format, please.
Mkay. I'll skip the general part about "poor child" and "poor mother" and so forth. It's all been done before, and while I feel extremely sad for the kids on the account of the shabby parents and a whole bunch of things, like being given out for adoption over a freaking game... But I'd much rather address the parents in this case. Or rather, the fact that this world needs to develop child-making into a licensed practice. Fail the parenthood test? Oops, no baby for you. Why are we getting them driver's licenses for pretty much everything there is that moves with assistance of an engine, pass exams in school and get tested for professional appropriateness when we apply somewhere (hell, 3 years' experience is a must in any decent place nowadays, so maybe 3 years' experience of parenting should be required!) while morons are free to make babies left and right without a single thought in their head? Really, why? And then they claim our society cares for children - well, obviously, as seen from all the recent things going on (13 euro refund to social service for child benefits that a child that just died wasn't any longer eligible for; violent child-abuser mother given custody to her children but fails it by killing them all, brainless, irresponsible, underage people allowed to reproduce freely), it doesn't give a flying... duck.
Comments? Am I being totalitarian again? Repressing people's base freedoms? Being anti-religion?
Oh, and CC, if you read this, post the link to the other WoW thing you just sent me yesterday? Lost the thing in a crash, and illustrates some things quite well, too.
Angthoron:
What sporum now?
Inari:
ER
Inari:
My view on Dragonfury has gone even lower
Angthoron:
What now?
Inari:
He met some chick in WoW, got her pregnant and left them a week after the baby was born
Angthoron:
Just ICly, I hope? <.<
Inari: Nuhuh
Angthoron: Whaaaaaaa?
Inari: Remember Larnia?
Inari: They had a baby
Inari: A real baby
Angthoron: As in, "Waaa, waaa" baby that you get kicking around the mother's stomach for around 9 months, the non-internet baby kind?
Inari: A real, screaming, kicking, pinksinned, pooping baby
Angthoron: And they made it despite the fact that idiots shouldn't procreate and DF was an obvious asshole? Wow.
Inari: Well, it seems people who shouldn't have babies, get them the most Angthoron: Though that seriously is pretty fucked up regardless of the abovementioned
Angthoron: But to be honest, somehow I wasn't really expecting a lot more from DF
Inari: There was one other case on ER a year or so ago, someone had a baby and GAVE IT UP TO SOCIAL SERVICES SO SHE COULD PLAY WOW
Angthoron: ........................................................................
Angthoron: Kidding, right?
Inari: No, the baby was taken away from her because she didn't look after it but spent time on WoW
Mkay. I'll skip the general part about "poor child" and "poor mother" and so forth. It's all been done before, and while I feel extremely sad for the kids on the account of the shabby parents and a whole bunch of things, like being given out for adoption over a freaking game... But I'd much rather address the parents in this case. Or rather, the fact that this world needs to develop child-making into a licensed practice. Fail the parenthood test? Oops, no baby for you. Why are we getting them driver's licenses for pretty much everything there is that moves with assistance of an engine, pass exams in school and get tested for professional appropriateness when we apply somewhere (hell, 3 years' experience is a must in any decent place nowadays, so maybe 3 years' experience of parenting should be required!) while morons are free to make babies left and right without a single thought in their head? Really, why? And then they claim our society cares for children - well, obviously, as seen from all the recent things going on (13 euro refund to social service for child benefits that a child that just died wasn't any longer eligible for; violent child-abuser mother given custody to her children but fails it by killing them all, brainless, irresponsible, underage people allowed to reproduce freely), it doesn't give a flying... duck.
Comments? Am I being totalitarian again? Repressing people's base freedoms? Being anti-religion?
Oh, and CC, if you read this, post the link to the other WoW thing you just sent me yesterday? Lost the thing in a crash, and illustrates some things quite well, too.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Real-life factory stories!
Well, it's just five days left now. Only five, then I finally quit and don't have to see another phone manufactured for - with luck - the rest of my life or, without luck, til next summer.
But bloody hell, these four months have been something else to me. First three were actually mostly alright. I didn't have expectations when I came around, and it was essentially an easy thing to do without having to use the brain at all. Fair deal, ainnit? Well, apparently, not. First, there's the whole issue of brain going stale. For a while, I get to entertain the people around me, but in the months that elapse, things get old, and both myself and the rest are rather tired of it - and it's getting tougher and tougher to make things up. On the other hand, I'm not hired to entertain, I'm hired to do work, and making others happy isn't exactly high on my list of priorities. Unfortunately, making people happy - or, hell, waking any kind of emotions in them makes me last a bit longer, or so it'd seem, so I can't help but go on. And now my head's caught in an infinite loop, I can't make anything new up anymore and am losing my IQ points faster than I ever have. I literally feel going more and more stupid. This, of course, can't help but bring me a feeling of trouble - I am seriously worried about the state of my mind, and mind is one of the things about myself that I am (hopefully) deservedly proud about.
Of course, all the said things contribute to a developing state of depression that many of the readers have suddenly encountered (again), and, being depressed, I tend to revert to thinking of where I went wrong, which usually ends up really deep in the past. Amusing, really. In order not to be depressed now, I would have to go back in time and prevent myself from becoming pretty much everything I am today. To continue being "that Russian guy", as opposed to being "That whoa crazy Russian guy we know and love!"
But then, let's face it. I was tired of being alone. And when I say alone, I really do mean alone, because, while travelling is all good and nice, I lost about 98% of my friends through it - friendships don't blossom when not tended to, and I had no chance to tend to them at all - and made pretty much zero, because there's not really a point in making lasting relationships when you have no idea how long you are going to stay. So, until the times of high school, I literally had one friend hanging about, and that is a tad little, if you ask me.
Plus, I'd have to drop the "invincibility" pretense - which I can't do either, since it's a part of me as well. Why? Well, when you fear a drunk in your own house so much that you basically fear for your life, or life of someone else, up to the point of running to the police in pajamas across a wintery desert scene, later in your life you might not want to feel vulnerable ever again.
And guess what? This doesn't make me pity myself. It makes me mad. Very, very angry, at myself, and at everything around me. Or almost everything. I can't really put it to words. Possibly, my pride forbids me to acknowledge pity - but then again, I can't do anything about it. Pride is probably my biggest sin. Which, I guess, isn't the worst one out there.
There's the sharing, Seagale. Doesn't make me feel any better, yet, anyway. Probably looks whiny and stupid, too, but hey, it's my "blog" and I can look as awful as I want in it.
But bloody hell, these four months have been something else to me. First three were actually mostly alright. I didn't have expectations when I came around, and it was essentially an easy thing to do without having to use the brain at all. Fair deal, ainnit? Well, apparently, not. First, there's the whole issue of brain going stale. For a while, I get to entertain the people around me, but in the months that elapse, things get old, and both myself and the rest are rather tired of it - and it's getting tougher and tougher to make things up. On the other hand, I'm not hired to entertain, I'm hired to do work, and making others happy isn't exactly high on my list of priorities. Unfortunately, making people happy - or, hell, waking any kind of emotions in them makes me last a bit longer, or so it'd seem, so I can't help but go on. And now my head's caught in an infinite loop, I can't make anything new up anymore and am losing my IQ points faster than I ever have. I literally feel going more and more stupid. This, of course, can't help but bring me a feeling of trouble - I am seriously worried about the state of my mind, and mind is one of the things about myself that I am (hopefully) deservedly proud about.
Of course, all the said things contribute to a developing state of depression that many of the readers have suddenly encountered (again), and, being depressed, I tend to revert to thinking of where I went wrong, which usually ends up really deep in the past. Amusing, really. In order not to be depressed now, I would have to go back in time and prevent myself from becoming pretty much everything I am today. To continue being "that Russian guy", as opposed to being "That whoa crazy Russian guy we know and love!"
But then, let's face it. I was tired of being alone. And when I say alone, I really do mean alone, because, while travelling is all good and nice, I lost about 98% of my friends through it - friendships don't blossom when not tended to, and I had no chance to tend to them at all - and made pretty much zero, because there's not really a point in making lasting relationships when you have no idea how long you are going to stay. So, until the times of high school, I literally had one friend hanging about, and that is a tad little, if you ask me.
Plus, I'd have to drop the "invincibility" pretense - which I can't do either, since it's a part of me as well. Why? Well, when you fear a drunk in your own house so much that you basically fear for your life, or life of someone else, up to the point of running to the police in pajamas across a wintery desert scene, later in your life you might not want to feel vulnerable ever again.
And guess what? This doesn't make me pity myself. It makes me mad. Very, very angry, at myself, and at everything around me. Or almost everything. I can't really put it to words. Possibly, my pride forbids me to acknowledge pity - but then again, I can't do anything about it. Pride is probably my biggest sin. Which, I guess, isn't the worst one out there.
There's the sharing, Seagale. Doesn't make me feel any better, yet, anyway. Probably looks whiny and stupid, too, but hey, it's my "blog" and I can look as awful as I want in it.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
3D - Depression, Doom and Dread!
Do you ever get these moments? When you suddenly realize life's slipping away and you can't do anything to stop it? That you're actually helping it slip away? That so far, you've done nothing, and the day is over? Or a week? Or an entire season?
Well, on Saturday morning I realized that the summer is gone. Just gone. Do you know the smell of early autumn? There's still the usual summer smells all around you, but just as a hint of the end, there is a small, tiny, insignificant smell of dampness and decay. It was there already - and I am still working at the factory. Alright, I'm earning decent money, am financially independent of the state or family - something that I am very happy about, as I do dislike being dependent on a whole array of things. But... The whole summer is gone, more or less in a blink of an eye. Makes me feel rather bitter, it does. Or rather, a depressed state is up, which is always a lot of fun in my case, as it's pretty much the opposite of my usual "high" state - we get the dread, the touchiness, the guilt over nothing, the worrying - over nothing as well, and, of course, the all-time favourite, self-loathing! I usually just sleep then, and this is what I've been doing today - sleeping!
Then again, it could possibly mean that I've finally burned the remaining stress hormones and now am getting to the point where the withdrawal phase kicks in.
*goes to brood in the corner*
Oh, and I finished the Electronic Addictions analysis - can be found over here.
Well, on Saturday morning I realized that the summer is gone. Just gone. Do you know the smell of early autumn? There's still the usual summer smells all around you, but just as a hint of the end, there is a small, tiny, insignificant smell of dampness and decay. It was there already - and I am still working at the factory. Alright, I'm earning decent money, am financially independent of the state or family - something that I am very happy about, as I do dislike being dependent on a whole array of things. But... The whole summer is gone, more or less in a blink of an eye. Makes me feel rather bitter, it does. Or rather, a depressed state is up, which is always a lot of fun in my case, as it's pretty much the opposite of my usual "high" state - we get the dread, the touchiness, the guilt over nothing, the worrying - over nothing as well, and, of course, the all-time favourite, self-loathing! I usually just sleep then, and this is what I've been doing today - sleeping!
Then again, it could possibly mean that I've finally burned the remaining stress hormones and now am getting to the point where the withdrawal phase kicks in.
*goes to brood in the corner*
Oh, and I finished the Electronic Addictions analysis - can be found over here.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Rants - Stormy Weather
I love wind. I mean, I really love wind. The feel of it against the face, drowning everything out til it's hard to breathe - mmhmm, just great. I love water. After all, I used to train as a swimmer and was even school's best swimmer - splitting with a good friend of mine, but meh. Always best to say "best", since if you don't compliment yourself, chances are, no-one will. Water's great. Rains, too. And snow, of course - which brings me to another point - I like a decent chill. Of course, being dressed appropriately for it.
Why did I just say all that? Well, mostly because when you combine all those together - sans the snow - you get a situation that's the sum of all with a minus sign in front. A very fat minus. After another lovely night shift, I just ended up in a storm. Very cold and very wet and very windy storm. In just about five minutes, there's not been a single dry thread on me - a wonder the telephone seems to be working alright, looks like it wasn't made by a summer employee. But anyway - it's been rather an interesting walk - twenty minutes in a driving rain. I think that the least thing I will be getting out of it is a flu that I just managed to convince not being the right target for (thank you, sick people at the factory! I always enjoy coughing for several weeks, donations of medicine-resistant strains are especially welcome!).
Furthermore, I am now in possession of a pair of jeans that literally has swamps in its pockets - well, lakes, rather, but regardlessly, the damned thing is now unwearable at least until it dries off, and I think it needs a good wash, as well. And the weather is promised to continue in the same key for several days, oh the joy.
So, to prevent potential disease and for falling asleep easier, I've actually taken a nice shot of gin from my emergency gin & tonic stash. Ew. I really hate hard liquor. Really, really hate it and what it generally makes of people. Long story. I also fail to understand how the hell people actually drink it. It tastes horrible.
*sigh* Ah well, sleep time, I guess.
Why did I just say all that? Well, mostly because when you combine all those together - sans the snow - you get a situation that's the sum of all with a minus sign in front. A very fat minus. After another lovely night shift, I just ended up in a storm. Very cold and very wet and very windy storm. In just about five minutes, there's not been a single dry thread on me - a wonder the telephone seems to be working alright, looks like it wasn't made by a summer employee. But anyway - it's been rather an interesting walk - twenty minutes in a driving rain. I think that the least thing I will be getting out of it is a flu that I just managed to convince not being the right target for (thank you, sick people at the factory! I always enjoy coughing for several weeks, donations of medicine-resistant strains are especially welcome!).
Furthermore, I am now in possession of a pair of jeans that literally has swamps in its pockets - well, lakes, rather, but regardlessly, the damned thing is now unwearable at least until it dries off, and I think it needs a good wash, as well. And the weather is promised to continue in the same key for several days, oh the joy.
So, to prevent potential disease and for falling asleep easier, I've actually taken a nice shot of gin from my emergency gin & tonic stash. Ew. I really hate hard liquor. Really, really hate it and what it generally makes of people. Long story. I also fail to understand how the hell people actually drink it. It tastes horrible.
*sigh* Ah well, sleep time, I guess.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
On Electronic Addictions
This is a placeholder, of sorts, to a tomorrow's editing of the conversation I am cutting this out from. The subject is basically how World of Warcraft creates an addiction-type effect.
Ever noticed, for one, that WoW is full of triangular shapes and upward-directed lines? As well as squares, which aren't uncommon? I'll try to find that triangle article stuff later, however, in the analysis of pictures in children's books, it's very commonly taken to analyse the shapes that the pictures have. It basically boils down to the fact that upward triangles are very strongly positive, downward triangles are negative, squares are pretty much "stable" positions, lines going up from left to right are positive, the other way around is "negative"
Furthermore, there's the size. The stuff around is generally larger than the avatars. Except the "significant" stuff like houses and carts that are out of proportion. Plus, there's the colours. Colours are all "full", "bright" and "colourful"
All these three features are QUITE common to what kids that can draw would draw. I mean - objects that kids draw are usually outta proportion. A toy car would be huge, while a house would be small
So, basically, the WoW imagery is aiming at the so-called "inner child", which reverts to childhood, which is omg carefree awesome time, which is something most would like to go back to - and therefore the subconscious addiction
Ever noticed, for one, that WoW is full of triangular shapes and upward-directed lines? As well as squares, which aren't uncommon? I'll try to find that triangle article stuff later, however, in the analysis of pictures in children's books, it's very commonly taken to analyse the shapes that the pictures have. It basically boils down to the fact that upward triangles are very strongly positive, downward triangles are negative, squares are pretty much "stable" positions, lines going up from left to right are positive, the other way around is "negative"
Furthermore, there's the size. The stuff around is generally larger than the avatars. Except the "significant" stuff like houses and carts that are out of proportion. Plus, there's the colours. Colours are all "full", "bright" and "colourful"
All these three features are QUITE common to what kids that can draw would draw. I mean - objects that kids draw are usually outta proportion. A toy car would be huge, while a house would be small
So, basically, the WoW imagery is aiming at the so-called "inner child", which reverts to childhood, which is omg carefree awesome time, which is something most would like to go back to - and therefore the subconscious addiction
Child exploitation
Today I decided to write on a serious and non-fictional matter for some reason. Possibly to counter the hilarity that Simpsons: The Movie is. In any case... The topic is child exploitation.
And no, I'm not going to talk about African child soldiers. Or about South America's field-working kids. Or Asian sweatshop workers. Or even the good old times when all good children of England worked as chimney sweeps (and got stuck in the chimneys and died - which is true) or factory and coal mine workers. I'm going to talk about our own democratic etc society.
First of all, I would like to point to the following picture. What do we see? We see a young African boy, looking sad and serious. Now, if we look at majority of UNICEF pictures, what we see is similar imagery - sad and serious children. Occasionally, it's a happy child (To show the help UNICEF provides) or a woman. One nearly never sees an adult male in the picture. While this is clear sexism, the point is in the following fact - by "following the call of your heart", which these pictures evoke, you essentially condone exploitation of children and women.
Why so? Well, first of all, the images are used to manipulate - quite well so - the viewer into sympathy. We don't know the background of the kid, but we presume he's sad over not having eaten for ten days, having little water, no education and so forth. The woman on the picture will, of course, mean powerlessness in the male-dominated world, lack of career, education and freedom (Undeniably, this is too much so in many cases, but that is besides the point). The picture furthermore draws on either parental feelings or feelings of compassion/solidarity/generosity or, most importantly, guilt. I mean, you can't let a child starve, can you? Tsk, tsk, heartless you for passing by such a picture without signing up as a benefactor.
But now, let's think about it. These children, do they know and fully understand the purpose of being taken pictures of? That they will be used to trick money out of people for what the benefactors call "saving their people" or whatnot? Do they fully approve the fact that millions of people will see it and give their money just because of the sad look upon a child's face rather than studying the facts and doing charity out of their own premeditated decision? This is no better than someone begging at the street by lying that they're blind, out of place to live and will have a foot amputation tomorrow. It is a manipulation and a lie.
But in fact, a lot of manipulations are based on children - or women. Considering the age we're supposedly living in, it is odd, to say the least. Have you ever heard the phrase, "But think of all the children!"? Well, how about thinking of all their parents, or people that can as easily make children as well? Like, how about thinking of "the people"? But nah, people are already grown up, they aren't helpless, they can stand up for themselves. Right? So let's use the "children" card again, since they're the flowers of the future and so on - a better, more enlightened us. If this isn't exploiting a child, I don't quite know what is. This isn't even exploiting the child physically, this is exploiting on an ideological level - in order to get your agenda through. UNICEF uses kids to get cash to presumeably save the world, Mattel uses kids to gain millions in Barbie sales (what good parent can refuse a crying child a new, shiny, lovely toy?), some governmental official uses the phrase to carpet-bomb a minor third-world country... Doing it all for the kids.
Don't get me wrong, I like kids just as much as any normal person does. Besides, as our Literature teacher Lidya says, children are people. There's the good, the bad, the ugly. One can't like all people, same way, one can't like all children, either.
It's just that I like them enough to not like having them used.
And no, I'm not going to talk about African child soldiers. Or about South America's field-working kids. Or Asian sweatshop workers. Or even the good old times when all good children of England worked as chimney sweeps (and got stuck in the chimneys and died - which is true) or factory and coal mine workers. I'm going to talk about our own democratic etc society.
First of all, I would like to point to the following picture. What do we see? We see a young African boy, looking sad and serious. Now, if we look at majority of UNICEF pictures, what we see is similar imagery - sad and serious children. Occasionally, it's a happy child (To show the help UNICEF provides) or a woman. One nearly never sees an adult male in the picture. While this is clear sexism, the point is in the following fact - by "following the call of your heart", which these pictures evoke, you essentially condone exploitation of children and women.
Why so? Well, first of all, the images are used to manipulate - quite well so - the viewer into sympathy. We don't know the background of the kid, but we presume he's sad over not having eaten for ten days, having little water, no education and so forth. The woman on the picture will, of course, mean powerlessness in the male-dominated world, lack of career, education and freedom (Undeniably, this is too much so in many cases, but that is besides the point). The picture furthermore draws on either parental feelings or feelings of compassion/solidarity/generosity or, most importantly, guilt. I mean, you can't let a child starve, can you? Tsk, tsk, heartless you for passing by such a picture without signing up as a benefactor.
But now, let's think about it. These children, do they know and fully understand the purpose of being taken pictures of? That they will be used to trick money out of people for what the benefactors call "saving their people" or whatnot? Do they fully approve the fact that millions of people will see it and give their money just because of the sad look upon a child's face rather than studying the facts and doing charity out of their own premeditated decision? This is no better than someone begging at the street by lying that they're blind, out of place to live and will have a foot amputation tomorrow. It is a manipulation and a lie.
But in fact, a lot of manipulations are based on children - or women. Considering the age we're supposedly living in, it is odd, to say the least. Have you ever heard the phrase, "But think of all the children!"? Well, how about thinking of all their parents, or people that can as easily make children as well? Like, how about thinking of "the people"? But nah, people are already grown up, they aren't helpless, they can stand up for themselves. Right? So let's use the "children" card again, since they're the flowers of the future and so on - a better, more enlightened us. If this isn't exploiting a child, I don't quite know what is. This isn't even exploiting the child physically, this is exploiting on an ideological level - in order to get your agenda through. UNICEF uses kids to get cash to presumeably save the world, Mattel uses kids to gain millions in Barbie sales (what good parent can refuse a crying child a new, shiny, lovely toy?), some governmental official uses the phrase to carpet-bomb a minor third-world country... Doing it all for the kids.
Don't get me wrong, I like kids just as much as any normal person does. Besides, as our Literature teacher Lidya says, children are people. There's the good, the bad, the ugly. One can't like all people, same way, one can't like all children, either.
It's just that I like them enough to not like having them used.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Promo: Kamelot/Ghost Opera
Omigosh, Kamelot releases a new album (Ghost Opera)! I must say that this is rather exciting and something I looked forward to for ages (since release of the previous album in 2005, but it's more dramatic that way).
For those that aren't familiar with the band, here's a few samples of their older tracks from Youtube (and I would recommend minimizing the window and just listening to the music, since the bloody kids make fanboy/girl videoes by slapping together some piece of anime and the song. Grrrrrr. Ah well, got to thank them for at least having the songs there)
Temples of Gold, one of the earlier ballads - and a really good one at that. Karma album
Wander, one of the ballads from the Epica album. Another of my favourites.
The Haunting, a track from Black Halo, last year's album. This one actually has original video by Kamelot so it's watchable.
Soul Society, track that follows The Haunting on Black Halo album.
Abandoned, Black Halo's only ballad. A very good one as well, though.
Ah, must get, must get.
Edit/add: Eeep. Dark, dark album. Pretty song though - Love You To Death. *shiver* Not sure what to say about it.
Note: All links go to Youtube, no downloads beyond the normal Youtube loadings necessary.
For those that aren't familiar with the band, here's a few samples of their older tracks from Youtube (and I would recommend minimizing the window and just listening to the music, since the bloody kids make fanboy/girl videoes by slapping together some piece of anime and the song. Grrrrrr. Ah well, got to thank them for at least having the songs there)
Temples of Gold, one of the earlier ballads - and a really good one at that. Karma album
Wander, one of the ballads from the Epica album. Another of my favourites.
The Haunting, a track from Black Halo, last year's album. This one actually has original video by Kamelot so it's watchable.
Soul Society, track that follows The Haunting on Black Halo album.
Abandoned, Black Halo's only ballad. A very good one as well, though.
Ah, must get, must get.
Edit/add: Eeep. Dark, dark album. Pretty song though - Love You To Death. *shiver* Not sure what to say about it.
Note: All links go to Youtube, no downloads beyond the normal Youtube loadings necessary.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Rants: On the lovely word "Freedom"
Well, then, that's final - I had enough with the said word. It pours down the pages of every magazine, drops out of the TV screens and floods out of the radio. Really, it's even a good tone to have the word appear on various webpages in various contexts. It's the new - well, a little old now - hip word. And where, then, might I ask, is the actual freedom attached to the word? Where's the freedom of choice, morality, action, word, preference? What we're given to look at and perform is nowhere near the actual freedom, which, in essence, would count as a perhaps somewhat more ordered version of anarchy. But even if we ignore the implications that the word freedom gives (thank you, Merriam-Webster), we do not even have the basic freedoms that the democracy is meant to offer. Everything is restricted and constrained, everything has limits, buts and strings attached. In essence, being free either means possessing vast riches or wielding enormous power. Which, I'm pretty sure, about 98-99 percent of the global population do not have. Another option is living as a hermit or a nomad - or somewhere in Siberia, where other people might appear once in ten years to ask for direction to somewhere where people actually live.
The pretty word, this "freedom" is merely a nice-sounding concept that the governments and the corporations are using to goad people into complacency and illusion of happiness and self-importance. But to be quite honest and frank, unless you have wealth, fame or power, you're not going to influence anything. Anything on the major scale that doesn't regard cosmetic difference, in any case - unless a whole great body of nobodies actually decides to have had enough and displays it accordingly - either by a dramatic vote change, or by the much more violent means of revolution. And to be quite honest again, neither is going to change anything, either - the candidates are pre-picked and the leaders of the revolution are not idiots.
So... When people like G.W. Bush or some "liberal" press representative gives nice phrases about freedom and liberty, I feel more and more like gnashing my teeth. It may have once meant something. Today, its value is so low, it won't get you even a piece of bread.
The pretty word, this "freedom" is merely a nice-sounding concept that the governments and the corporations are using to goad people into complacency and illusion of happiness and self-importance. But to be quite honest and frank, unless you have wealth, fame or power, you're not going to influence anything. Anything on the major scale that doesn't regard cosmetic difference, in any case - unless a whole great body of nobodies actually decides to have had enough and displays it accordingly - either by a dramatic vote change, or by the much more violent means of revolution. And to be quite honest again, neither is going to change anything, either - the candidates are pre-picked and the leaders of the revolution are not idiots.
So... When people like G.W. Bush or some "liberal" press representative gives nice phrases about freedom and liberty, I feel more and more like gnashing my teeth. It may have once meant something. Today, its value is so low, it won't get you even a piece of bread.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Factory Stories, Part 1 remade
Albert, part 1.
The work he had to do wasn't really something he could actually call "work" in the real sense of the word. Not that he minded, it certainly was beating the hell out of flipping burgers at a night grill stand like he had done for his last summer holiday. Now, three weeks into his employment term, he found himself oddly at ease with the surroundings - the giant whirring hangar he worked in, the grayness of the surroundings, the tired faces - well, he was one of them now, so he couldn't really say he stood out of the crowd. Sure, there were people that acted differently - like the fellow that always showed up wearing black clothes and a sarcastic smile on his face - Albert could swear he heard laughter from that particular part of the building. The guy made him laugh a few times as well, throwing around several dry sarcastic comments. Then again. Albert liked the silence. All they had to do was pack the ready radios, and packing was what he did. The people that populated his cubicle were nice, quiet people that seemed to share a few common interests but never really talked about them a great deal - which was good, too, as he really couldn't care for what they did. Or, he couldn't really say he couldn't care at all, rather, he preferred to simply work without getting any kinds of attachments formed. To Albert, working at the factory was merely a way to earn his money, not a visit to a concert hall or a beach - he didn't have to enjoy it, and the fact that he didn't hate it was a great bonus.
"Number sixteen-oh-one!" Albert snapped out of his thoughts, finishing the packing of a yet another box. "Yes?"
"You get to move to another part of the factory. Sorry, necessary measures, really - the management thinks you need to learn some other things around"
Albert nodded, getting up from his seat. Learning new things, now that was something he didn't enjoy. What was this about? He fulfilled the daily quota every day, even did extra sometimes, there were rarely any complaints about his packing, and he even received some faint praise from the colleagues. So why now? And where? And what? He sighed quietly as he followed the man that came after him - another typical factory employee. Sometimes they looked like twins, and this was one of those times. Lab coats, those odd hats some wore... Ugh, he would have to wear one of those too? Seemed so - the man, babbling on, passed him a light plastic hat and showed him a whole shelf filled with more of such. Albert nodded politely, pretending to listen, as he put the hat on. At least they weren't re- useable. He'd hate it if they were. Someone else's hair in his hat, what next, lice?
While he inwardly cursed, they crossed another magnificent grey concrete hall and entered a maze of cubicles. "You'll be putting these things together now, sixteen-oh-one. The people around will show you how to do it, it's really nothing difficult. Well, good luck at the new place!" The man walked away, leaving Albert in front of an enterance to one of the cubicles. Albert sighed and hesitantly stepped inside, instantly wishing he hadn't. The inhabitants, oh god. The inhabitants reminded him of the clients he used to have at the burger joint - two haggardly, foul-smelling men of unknown age or origin and a woman that could have easily been used to sweep chimneys - both for the reasons of her terrible, sickly, unnatural thinness and for what seemed to be unremovable stains on her face. Then again, she might have simply liked to drink a tad too much. The jolly company waved to Albert, the woman instinctively fixing the plastic hat on her head. "I hope I wouldn't have to work here too long", Albert thought.
It only took him a few hours to learn more about his new neighbours than he's ever known of his old ones. He couldn't quite say he liked what he'd have learned, either, though most of the things he'd now heard from his "comrades" merely confirmed his worst suspicions. In other words, they were drunkards of the worst sort - not quite something he'd personally enjoyed. In fact, drunkards and addicts were the facts that he had violently tried to hide about his family.
Well, not all his family, of course. His brother, mostly, the drug addict that kept getting busted at minor theft attempts yet always managed to get money for another dose from somewhere. Albert didn't quite think he wanted to know how exactly his brother, the most inept and clumsy thief in history, was earning his money. Then there was the father, a quiet drunkard with endless sorrow in his eyes, the sort that will point out all the troubles that plague the world but never get off his arse to stop spending his wife's salary and actually work. Oh, he had reasons, of course, thousands of them. Albert wondered how his mother was putting up with the old git. He moved out of the mutual family home as soon as he could, though, so it was really no trouble of his any longer - mother didn't want to move out and leave the useless waste of flesh that were the other males of his family behind - and he didn't feel inclined to try to persuade her otherwise. Still, having such characters in his past was one thing, sharing the same breathing space with three of them at work, eight hours each day was a different matter completely. Their breath, their faces, their voices... He could barely contain his disgust. That, and the subjects they picked, things that sometimes made his skin crawl. Sure, the discussions of the latest drunken party were still manageable, as well as comparing of one sort of cheap booze against another, but then, the woman would open her mouth. The horrible, disgusting, revolting woman. Sometimes, he wished he could hit her with something heavy, or stab her with something sharp, or just beat her face to a pulp - well, judging by her face, someone with less self-control than himself had already done it, and perhaps more than once. Albert mentally applauded to whoever it was that did it, wishing he'd have been there to watch. But all that aside... Why? How? How could this woman find people to mate with so she could tell stories of it the next day? Did she pay them? Was there someone that desperate? Or that drunk? Albert wasn't sure there was enough alcohol one could consume before the standards would drop that low. She ranted on and on, though, describing everything down to every detail, and the men seemed to at least approve what they were hearing. The first and only feeble attempt by Albert to make the woman stop was interrupted by them immediately, he was called a chauvinist and an ass as well as a number of other things, and for at least a week, the dirty trio would occasionally make up a crude joke about him.
He even tried to talk about it to their foreman - to no use. The foreman of this particular spot of hell seemed to be a hard-headed idiot that was beating his head against a brick wall daily in order not to lose his admirable qualities. All Albert got out of the discussion was that trying to "talk behind your comrades' backs" was bad, and that he should "try to get used to them". Well, that wasn't true. He also got the foreman to send him and the other three to a bar, with several free drinks on him. Him being Albert, of course, for being such an ass to his "friends" and trying to deteriorate the workplace morale. What morale? A rotting corpse had more morale than Albert's damned cubicle. As he stepped outside the foreman's office, Albert felt blood rushing to his face. How dare he tell him such filth? He had the nerve to threaten to fire him with a letter of warning to any other company he was ever to join as a disruptor and anarchist if he didn't follow the order of taking those three to a bar. What the hell was wrong with that man, anyway? People usually preferred it when their employees did not drink, rather than have that in reverse. Albert clenched his jaw. Fine, he would take them to drink. And he would sit quietly for another week. But then, he'd definitely be out of this hole, away from drunks, idiots and harlots. He closed his eyes then, just for a moment.
And just in that moment, he must have finally snapped, as when he opened them, he saw a squirrel. A rather large squirrel with a fat tail. Just sitting in the middle of the hall, staring at him square in the eyes. He blinked several times, wondering if the squirrel would just go away. But it just didn't, rather, it moved a bit closer, almost to within his reach now, squeaking at him quietly. Albert instinctively reached for his pocket, wondering if it contained any food he could offer to the little critter. But just as he reached for the pocket, taking his eyes off the squirrel, it vanished. Albert sighed and shook his head. Perhaps that idea of having the drinks wasn't so bad after all, what with seeing squirrels in the middle of a bloody factory.
...Or perhaps it wasn't. The place the drunks picked was full of derelict charm, dirty, noisy and smelly - and naturally, filled with more of the type that Albert wanted to avoid. He began to wonder if such bars were left around to make people to appreciate the averageness of other places, or whether they actually were breeding places for their customers. Then he recalled the daily talks of the woman and shuddered. Of course it was. He sighed and ordered the drinks, deciding to empty a few quickly to slightly dullen the perception.
Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea. Or maybe it was! He'd forgotten how little it took for him to get drunk and lose his stupid attitudes towards everyone and everything. The workmates didn't look at all as bad as he'd made them look to himself before, just some slightly less fortunate folk that ended up on the wrong side of the tracks and couldn't help get across, being tossed back to their place by the likes of him. How could he be so stuck-up? Albert was briefly shocked with himself, but another drink quickly solved that, leaving him to joyfully perform at the karaoke machine. His new friends looked at him approvingly, occasionally, even seeming to try to slow him down, but he couldn't be stopped, not by them, not by anyone. He had money to burn, for why have money if it can't be burned? He seemed to remember heading off to another bar with his friends, though then again, he might have been wrong. To be quite honest, now that he just woke up to the ringing of alarm clock and aching of the head, he wasn't quite sure what had happened last night. Didn't seem too awful, though, going to a bar with those three. They sure knew how to have fun. Such were Albert's thoughts as he gathered himself for work.
His thoughts were still a mess when he entered the factory and headed towards his cubicle. Just at the door of it, he stopped, trying to gather his slightly crumbling mind and thinking of what to say to the neighbours, when he suddenly heard their voices from the inside. They were exceptionally early today, all of them. And they seemed to speak of him - a subject he could listen in on for a few moments - and so he stayed. And as he listened on, his eyes grew wider and wider in horror and disgust, mind conjuring images from its depths, and those were not happy images. Well, not now that he was sober. That woman, that dirty, terrible, horrible woman, how could she? How could he? He couldn't have been that drunk! No, this was a mistake, a lie, slander, that's what it was! All lies, and she was spreading them behind his back!
As the thoughts and blood filled Albert's head, his vision dimmed for a moment, his head strangely like a balloon, empty and light. Slowly, a smile instilled itself on his lips, a smile that didn't apply to his eyes in the least. He tore himself away from where he stood and entered the cubicle, quietly greeting everyone and leaning downwards to pick up the materials for the upcoming day. The group seemed to pay little heed of him - even the woman, who continued her ugly storytelling, likely thinking he would approve or enjoy it. Well, silly her.
With that thought, Albert picked up a radio cover and took a swift leap towards the woman. She stared at him, startled, words about to drop off her tongue, as he swung the cover in the air briefly and applied it to her face. Something inside him screeched, trying to stop him, but either it didn't try hard enough, or he was a bit too absorbed in his new, and rather pleasant occupation. Either way, his hands kept moving, blows falling to anything he'd meet in his way. Suddenly, something hit him from behind. It didn't feel like much, but now, his legs could no longer support him, the body won't listen, or even feel. Faced with no other choice, he fell to the ground - facing the monster of a woman just in front of him. He didn't quite know what made him feel so sure of it, but as he looked at her glassy eyes, it dawned upon him that the woman would never again open that stupid dirty mouth. With that, he smiled and closed his eyes.
Commentary: For coherence's sake.
Commentary 2: Same reasons, ending modified.
The work he had to do wasn't really something he could actually call "work" in the real sense of the word. Not that he minded, it certainly was beating the hell out of flipping burgers at a night grill stand like he had done for his last summer holiday. Now, three weeks into his employment term, he found himself oddly at ease with the surroundings - the giant whirring hangar he worked in, the grayness of the surroundings, the tired faces - well, he was one of them now, so he couldn't really say he stood out of the crowd. Sure, there were people that acted differently - like the fellow that always showed up wearing black clothes and a sarcastic smile on his face - Albert could swear he heard laughter from that particular part of the building. The guy made him laugh a few times as well, throwing around several dry sarcastic comments. Then again. Albert liked the silence. All they had to do was pack the ready radios, and packing was what he did. The people that populated his cubicle were nice, quiet people that seemed to share a few common interests but never really talked about them a great deal - which was good, too, as he really couldn't care for what they did. Or, he couldn't really say he couldn't care at all, rather, he preferred to simply work without getting any kinds of attachments formed. To Albert, working at the factory was merely a way to earn his money, not a visit to a concert hall or a beach - he didn't have to enjoy it, and the fact that he didn't hate it was a great bonus.
"Number sixteen-oh-one!" Albert snapped out of his thoughts, finishing the packing of a yet another box. "Yes?"
"You get to move to another part of the factory. Sorry, necessary measures, really - the management thinks you need to learn some other things around"
Albert nodded, getting up from his seat. Learning new things, now that was something he didn't enjoy. What was this about? He fulfilled the daily quota every day, even did extra sometimes, there were rarely any complaints about his packing, and he even received some faint praise from the colleagues. So why now? And where? And what? He sighed quietly as he followed the man that came after him - another typical factory employee. Sometimes they looked like twins, and this was one of those times. Lab coats, those odd hats some wore... Ugh, he would have to wear one of those too? Seemed so - the man, babbling on, passed him a light plastic hat and showed him a whole shelf filled with more of such. Albert nodded politely, pretending to listen, as he put the hat on. At least they weren't re- useable. He'd hate it if they were. Someone else's hair in his hat, what next, lice?
While he inwardly cursed, they crossed another magnificent grey concrete hall and entered a maze of cubicles. "You'll be putting these things together now, sixteen-oh-one. The people around will show you how to do it, it's really nothing difficult. Well, good luck at the new place!" The man walked away, leaving Albert in front of an enterance to one of the cubicles. Albert sighed and hesitantly stepped inside, instantly wishing he hadn't. The inhabitants, oh god. The inhabitants reminded him of the clients he used to have at the burger joint - two haggardly, foul-smelling men of unknown age or origin and a woman that could have easily been used to sweep chimneys - both for the reasons of her terrible, sickly, unnatural thinness and for what seemed to be unremovable stains on her face. Then again, she might have simply liked to drink a tad too much. The jolly company waved to Albert, the woman instinctively fixing the plastic hat on her head. "I hope I wouldn't have to work here too long", Albert thought.
It only took him a few hours to learn more about his new neighbours than he's ever known of his old ones. He couldn't quite say he liked what he'd have learned, either, though most of the things he'd now heard from his "comrades" merely confirmed his worst suspicions. In other words, they were drunkards of the worst sort - not quite something he'd personally enjoyed. In fact, drunkards and addicts were the facts that he had violently tried to hide about his family.
Well, not all his family, of course. His brother, mostly, the drug addict that kept getting busted at minor theft attempts yet always managed to get money for another dose from somewhere. Albert didn't quite think he wanted to know how exactly his brother, the most inept and clumsy thief in history, was earning his money. Then there was the father, a quiet drunkard with endless sorrow in his eyes, the sort that will point out all the troubles that plague the world but never get off his arse to stop spending his wife's salary and actually work. Oh, he had reasons, of course, thousands of them. Albert wondered how his mother was putting up with the old git. He moved out of the mutual family home as soon as he could, though, so it was really no trouble of his any longer - mother didn't want to move out and leave the useless waste of flesh that were the other males of his family behind - and he didn't feel inclined to try to persuade her otherwise. Still, having such characters in his past was one thing, sharing the same breathing space with three of them at work, eight hours each day was a different matter completely. Their breath, their faces, their voices... He could barely contain his disgust. That, and the subjects they picked, things that sometimes made his skin crawl. Sure, the discussions of the latest drunken party were still manageable, as well as comparing of one sort of cheap booze against another, but then, the woman would open her mouth. The horrible, disgusting, revolting woman. Sometimes, he wished he could hit her with something heavy, or stab her with something sharp, or just beat her face to a pulp - well, judging by her face, someone with less self-control than himself had already done it, and perhaps more than once. Albert mentally applauded to whoever it was that did it, wishing he'd have been there to watch. But all that aside... Why? How? How could this woman find people to mate with so she could tell stories of it the next day? Did she pay them? Was there someone that desperate? Or that drunk? Albert wasn't sure there was enough alcohol one could consume before the standards would drop that low. She ranted on and on, though, describing everything down to every detail, and the men seemed to at least approve what they were hearing. The first and only feeble attempt by Albert to make the woman stop was interrupted by them immediately, he was called a chauvinist and an ass as well as a number of other things, and for at least a week, the dirty trio would occasionally make up a crude joke about him.
He even tried to talk about it to their foreman - to no use. The foreman of this particular spot of hell seemed to be a hard-headed idiot that was beating his head against a brick wall daily in order not to lose his admirable qualities. All Albert got out of the discussion was that trying to "talk behind your comrades' backs" was bad, and that he should "try to get used to them". Well, that wasn't true. He also got the foreman to send him and the other three to a bar, with several free drinks on him. Him being Albert, of course, for being such an ass to his "friends" and trying to deteriorate the workplace morale. What morale? A rotting corpse had more morale than Albert's damned cubicle. As he stepped outside the foreman's office, Albert felt blood rushing to his face. How dare he tell him such filth? He had the nerve to threaten to fire him with a letter of warning to any other company he was ever to join as a disruptor and anarchist if he didn't follow the order of taking those three to a bar. What the hell was wrong with that man, anyway? People usually preferred it when their employees did not drink, rather than have that in reverse. Albert clenched his jaw. Fine, he would take them to drink. And he would sit quietly for another week. But then, he'd definitely be out of this hole, away from drunks, idiots and harlots. He closed his eyes then, just for a moment.
And just in that moment, he must have finally snapped, as when he opened them, he saw a squirrel. A rather large squirrel with a fat tail. Just sitting in the middle of the hall, staring at him square in the eyes. He blinked several times, wondering if the squirrel would just go away. But it just didn't, rather, it moved a bit closer, almost to within his reach now, squeaking at him quietly. Albert instinctively reached for his pocket, wondering if it contained any food he could offer to the little critter. But just as he reached for the pocket, taking his eyes off the squirrel, it vanished. Albert sighed and shook his head. Perhaps that idea of having the drinks wasn't so bad after all, what with seeing squirrels in the middle of a bloody factory.
...Or perhaps it wasn't. The place the drunks picked was full of derelict charm, dirty, noisy and smelly - and naturally, filled with more of the type that Albert wanted to avoid. He began to wonder if such bars were left around to make people to appreciate the averageness of other places, or whether they actually were breeding places for their customers. Then he recalled the daily talks of the woman and shuddered. Of course it was. He sighed and ordered the drinks, deciding to empty a few quickly to slightly dullen the perception.
Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea. Or maybe it was! He'd forgotten how little it took for him to get drunk and lose his stupid attitudes towards everyone and everything. The workmates didn't look at all as bad as he'd made them look to himself before, just some slightly less fortunate folk that ended up on the wrong side of the tracks and couldn't help get across, being tossed back to their place by the likes of him. How could he be so stuck-up? Albert was briefly shocked with himself, but another drink quickly solved that, leaving him to joyfully perform at the karaoke machine. His new friends looked at him approvingly, occasionally, even seeming to try to slow him down, but he couldn't be stopped, not by them, not by anyone. He had money to burn, for why have money if it can't be burned? He seemed to remember heading off to another bar with his friends, though then again, he might have been wrong. To be quite honest, now that he just woke up to the ringing of alarm clock and aching of the head, he wasn't quite sure what had happened last night. Didn't seem too awful, though, going to a bar with those three. They sure knew how to have fun. Such were Albert's thoughts as he gathered himself for work.
His thoughts were still a mess when he entered the factory and headed towards his cubicle. Just at the door of it, he stopped, trying to gather his slightly crumbling mind and thinking of what to say to the neighbours, when he suddenly heard their voices from the inside. They were exceptionally early today, all of them. And they seemed to speak of him - a subject he could listen in on for a few moments - and so he stayed. And as he listened on, his eyes grew wider and wider in horror and disgust, mind conjuring images from its depths, and those were not happy images. Well, not now that he was sober. That woman, that dirty, terrible, horrible woman, how could she? How could he? He couldn't have been that drunk! No, this was a mistake, a lie, slander, that's what it was! All lies, and she was spreading them behind his back!
As the thoughts and blood filled Albert's head, his vision dimmed for a moment, his head strangely like a balloon, empty and light. Slowly, a smile instilled itself on his lips, a smile that didn't apply to his eyes in the least. He tore himself away from where he stood and entered the cubicle, quietly greeting everyone and leaning downwards to pick up the materials for the upcoming day. The group seemed to pay little heed of him - even the woman, who continued her ugly storytelling, likely thinking he would approve or enjoy it. Well, silly her.
With that thought, Albert picked up a radio cover and took a swift leap towards the woman. She stared at him, startled, words about to drop off her tongue, as he swung the cover in the air briefly and applied it to her face. Something inside him screeched, trying to stop him, but either it didn't try hard enough, or he was a bit too absorbed in his new, and rather pleasant occupation. Either way, his hands kept moving, blows falling to anything he'd meet in his way. Suddenly, something hit him from behind. It didn't feel like much, but now, his legs could no longer support him, the body won't listen, or even feel. Faced with no other choice, he fell to the ground - facing the monster of a woman just in front of him. He didn't quite know what made him feel so sure of it, but as he looked at her glassy eyes, it dawned upon him that the woman would never again open that stupid dirty mouth. With that, he smiled and closed his eyes.
Commentary: For coherence's sake.
Commentary 2: Same reasons, ending modified.
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